Dating a sociopath made me insecure & paranoid
Roohi Sabarwal’s boyfriend could charm at first sight. But that couldn’t make up for his pathological lying and manipulativeness
Late one night, six years ago, a chat window popped up on my computer screen. My early twenties weren’t the same after that. The person on the other side first sent a smiley, but I told him I wasn’t interested. Then, he told me something so personal about myself that I couldn’t help but chat with him.
I know — it is crazy to chat with strangers online. But at 19, if you’re a tomboy surrounded by pretty girls and guys swooning over them, you’re not thinking of safety. What I was doing was dubious, but it was out of the ordinary.
Nisheet was charming, articulate and, within days, he began finishing my sentences. Speaking to him was as intimate a feeling as writing a journal can be. He visited me in Bombay from Pune 10 days after we first chatted. I noticed he dressed really well, and his company was even better.
Anyone who’s been with a sociopath will tell you what a rollercoaster ride it is. There are unimaginable highs that seem worth the lowest of lows and even the loss of self-esteem that inevitably follows. While girls around me moaned about how guys didn’t understand them enough and weren’t as romantic, I was flooded with gifts (always worth Rs20,000-30,000), bouquets and surprise visits. Childhood fairytales seemed pale in comparison to my relationship.
Then there were moments when I didn’t understand what I had gotten into. A few months into our relationship, Nisheet told me he had decided to approach me after hacking into my email account and reading my online journal in it. I was disgusted, but he made all the right excuses — how it was a bad joke because he was immature (he was two years younger than me), and how something so beautiful had come out of a lie. He made subtly-concealed threats of self harm if I left him, and I panicked because I cared. Soon, he admitted that his real name was Neeraj and, because he helped the cyber crime cell, he had faked his identity (another lie).
With time, Neeraj’s lack of consideration for the law, and for most people around him shocked me. Everyone was an “idiot”, the law was “for wusses”. And my friends? Well, they were plain “dumb”. He made people, especially girls, feel special with his charm and glib talk, and smoothly bitched about them in their absence. If I argued against the pathological lying, he confidently claimed I couldn’t see the ‘truth’.
Neeraj steadily isolated me by asking my friends to stay away. I didn’t dare meet them much with him around anyway. They couldn’t stand his attitude and he would act hurt about how “no one liked him”. The rant often went on to how he was insecure because his father didn’t love him, and people often “abandoned” him — the good old I-have-been-wronged-and-you-can-make-it-all-right talk.
The effect was instant and insidious. I didn’t want to be someone who abandoned him, so I held on, terrified of leaving him. Before I could get a grip over myself, I had changed beyond recognition. I found myself second guessing everything Neeraj told me, even cross-checking ‘facts’ with his sister (they were always false).
The stories got more disgusting, even illegal. Eight months into the relationship, Neeraj admitted that he made money by hacking into accounts of US citizens who approached him to investigate their spouses’ infidelities. Once, I came across emails of him flirting with a girl. When I confronted him, he fled. I panicked (exactly what he wanted). He returned later, blood oozing from his knuckles. I knew I was dealing with a cold, sick individual who wanted me to doubt my own logic, but I found myself assuring him instead.
I know I should have seen it. I also know that it seems impossible that you can carry on with something so damaging for one-and-a-half years. It was only over time that I realised how being with him made me insecure, paranoid and on the wrong side of the law, away from my family and friends. So, I carefully planned my breakup four months before telling him about it. I acted my old, broken and dependent self, and gradually got hold of his brother’s contact details and told him about Neeraj’s lies regarding his education. His family dragged him back home.
Me? I grappled with trust issues for a while, but eventually found a healthy, loving relationship. Neeraj kept up the threats and calls trying to emotionally blackmail me, but eventually stopped when he found another girl. It is amazing how parasitic and leech-like it could get.
I disagree with people who say this happens only to the not-so-confident lot. It can happen to anyone. It gets easier to break free if you have a good dose of self-respect, but there isn’t any immunity from someone like that. I wish there was.
Roohi Sabarwal’s boyfriend could charm at first sight. But that couldn’t make up for his pathological lying and manipulativeness
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I know — it is crazy to chat with strangers online. But at 19, if you’re a tomboy surrounded by pretty girls and guys swooning over them, you’re not thinking of safety. What I was doing was dubious, but it was out of the ordinary.
Nisheet was charming, articulate and, within days, he began finishing my sentences. Speaking to him was as intimate a feeling as writing a journal can be. He visited me in Bombay from Pune 10 days after we first chatted. I noticed he dressed really well, and his company was even better.
Anyone who’s been with a sociopath will tell you what a rollercoaster ride it is. There are unimaginable highs that seem worth the lowest of lows and even the loss of self-esteem that inevitably follows. While girls around me moaned about how guys didn’t understand them enough and weren’t as romantic, I was flooded with gifts (always worth Rs20,000-30,000), bouquets and surprise visits. Childhood fairytales seemed pale in comparison to my relationship.
Then there were moments when I didn’t understand what I had gotten into. A few months into our relationship, Nisheet told me he had decided to approach me after hacking into my email account and reading my online journal in it. I was disgusted, but he made all the right excuses — how it was a bad joke because he was immature (he was two years younger than me), and how something so beautiful had come out of a lie. He made subtly-concealed threats of self harm if I left him, and I panicked because I cared. Soon, he admitted that his real name was Neeraj and, because he helped the cyber crime cell, he had faked his identity (another lie).
With time, Neeraj’s lack of consideration for the law, and for most people around him shocked me. Everyone was an “idiot”, the law was “for wusses”. And my friends? Well, they were plain “dumb”. He made people, especially girls, feel special with his charm and glib talk, and smoothly bitched about them in their absence. If I argued against the pathological lying, he confidently claimed I couldn’t see the ‘truth’.
Neeraj steadily isolated me by asking my friends to stay away. I didn’t dare meet them much with him around anyway. They couldn’t stand his attitude and he would act hurt about how “no one liked him”. The rant often went on to how he was insecure because his father didn’t love him, and people often “abandoned” him — the good old I-have-been-wronged-and-you-can-make-it-all-right talk.
The effect was instant and insidious. I didn’t want to be someone who abandoned him, so I held on, terrified of leaving him. Before I could get a grip over myself, I had changed beyond recognition. I found myself second guessing everything Neeraj told me, even cross-checking ‘facts’ with his sister (they were always false).
The stories got more disgusting, even illegal. Eight months into the relationship, Neeraj admitted that he made money by hacking into accounts of US citizens who approached him to investigate their spouses’ infidelities. Once, I came across emails of him flirting with a girl. When I confronted him, he fled. I panicked (exactly what he wanted). He returned later, blood oozing from his knuckles. I knew I was dealing with a cold, sick individual who wanted me to doubt my own logic, but I found myself assuring him instead.
I know I should have seen it. I also know that it seems impossible that you can carry on with something so damaging for one-and-a-half years. It was only over time that I realised how being with him made me insecure, paranoid and on the wrong side of the law, away from my family and friends. So, I carefully planned my breakup four months before telling him about it. I acted my old, broken and dependent self, and gradually got hold of his brother’s contact details and told him about Neeraj’s lies regarding his education. His family dragged him back home.
Me? I grappled with trust issues for a while, but eventually found a healthy, loving relationship. Neeraj kept up the threats and calls trying to emotionally blackmail me, but eventually stopped when he found another girl. It is amazing how parasitic and leech-like it could get.
I disagree with people who say this happens only to the not-so-confident lot. It can happen to anyone. It gets easier to break free if you have a good dose of self-respect, but there isn’t any immunity from someone like that. I wish there was.
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